Tears of Unfathomable Nonexistence
by Detouredbe
Summary: Alternatively titled, "How to Fail Miserably at Making a Gypsy King Cry". Easily one of the most random HoND fanfics ever constructed.
1. Chapter 1

**This random idea started out in random origins, as you might have expected. If you've ever noticed, Clopin always seems to be infectiously cheerful, given any situation - not counting his annoyance at being interrupted by Phoebus/pretty much anything his puppet says/Esmeralda preventing him from conducting that infamous hanging, or his fear when Frollo talks about the "bonfire", or his upset in the second film over **_**La Fidele**_** being stolen. Yes that sounds like a lot, but he's unquestionably all smiles a lot more. Well, I thought, he may be able to turn that upside-down frown right-side up periodically, but could one ever picture him becoming so emotional about anything that tears may fall from those enthralling eyes? This sentimental pondering lead me to the more comical thought, "What if the other characters were to **_**purposely **_**set out to make him cry?" Although it was initially just a joke stored in my mind, I thought more about it, and in the end I couldn't resist the temptation to see just where this idea could get to if I let it off the leash, and the result was this. **

**The only sensible way to present this nonsense seemed to be in the format of parody, especially considering 15****th**** century folk would not likely have been conducting science experiments, since the closest things they had to grounded science as we know it were alchemy and philosophy. Since it's a wack-job, even the "scientific" parts are loopy and only semi-realistic if that. This reminds me that I should make note: If the characters' conversation over their project at the beginning of this chapter is a bit confusing, that's just because it's supposed to be, no worries. Also, since this isn't really supposed to tie in to the storyline of HoND itself, and since they're helping with the experiment, everyone knows about the gargoyles - I actually like it better that way, anyway.**

**Copyright belongs to Disney and Victor Hugo.**

Introduction:

"_The __Clopin Trouillefou, scientific name _Clopinus trouillefouensis_, is a rare, easily distinguishable breed. Some authorities would even argue it is one of a kind. It is a wandering species, but has been known to nest on the streets and in the catacombs of Paris, France.* Its specific diet is uncertain but believed comparable to that of a normal human being's. Its circadian rythym is not entirely certain either, for it has been shown to thrive equally well in a diurnal and a nocturnal lifestyle. It is considered to be a mischievous, playful and elusive creature, generally good-tempered if not a little boisterous when approached on common ground, but is known to be extremely territorial, and may respond violently, mockingly, and craftily to intrusion into its dwelling/s._

_The purpose of this experiment is to determine whether it is actually possible to induce the action of crying in _C. trouillefouensis_. With its hitherto being observed in an almost eternally chipper state of behaviour, this experiment aims to collect evidence which will convey a better scientific understanding of this fascinating creature."_

"Alright, so experimental question number one," Phoebus reads aloud, to the others present. "Exactly why do we want to make him cry, again?"

"From what I gather, it's to see whether or not it can be done," Esmeralda replies. She and Phoebus, together with Quasimodo, Madellaine, and the gargoyles, all of whom are in white lab coats, are the "scientists" conducting this experiment.

"Esmeralda, you've known Clopin for years," Quasimodo points out, "wouldn't you know whether or not he'd ever cry about anything?"

Esmeralda shrugs. "He'll fake a tear for fun now and then, but as far as I can remember I've never seen him really break down over anything."

"You writin' all this down, Feeble?" Hugo asks, cleaning out his ear while simultaneously peering over Phoebus's shoulder at the papers.

Phoebus frowns back at the rotund gargoyle. "It just so happens I haven't been able to write anything down for the past several minutes because the pen disappeared." Spying the ear-cleaning tool Hugo is employing, he adds, "I recommend a pick-axe next time, friend," before snatching the pen out of Hugo's hand.

"A pick-axe? Are you kiddin'? If you could see what a pick-axe did to Uncle Julius's face! One of the scariest looking gargoyles you ever saw; now people die laughin' about him in their sleep!"

Rolling his eyes, Phoebus preens the tip of the pen as best as he can, then inks it up again and begins to clear the backlog of data. "Alright, let's see here…"

Problem (as posed in experiment):

"_Does _Clopinus trouillefouensis_ possess potential crying capacity?__"_

Hypothesis:

"_Based on prior evidence that the creature is able to shed crocodile tears, it is presumed possible for the creature to genuinely cry under emotionally provoked circumstances.__"_

"What I want to know is," Madellaine comments, "why are we writing about him like he's an animal?"

"I was told it was to sound more scientific," Quasimodo replies.

"But who told you that?"

Quasimodo hesitates for a moment. "The - the - the scientific… leaders I guess."

"You don't even _know _who told you, Quasi?" All she gets is an awkward shrug. How can they conduct this experiment without knowing whom they're supposed to submit it to? Talk about "Weird Science," or are we entering another film's premises there?

"Moving on," Phoebus calls, glancing up from his paperwork, "exactly how are we going to go about with this? Do we just bring him here, play a melancholy song? Tell him some bad news? Read him a tragic book perhaps?"

"Sounds good to me," Esmeralda agrees, looking over her husband's shoulder with her arms around him. "Write all that down under 'Materials', dear."

Apparatus and materials:

_*Violin or other sad sounding instrument_

_*Tragic story - romance preferable_

_*Dark confined space - and the materials needed to create one_

_To be added to as we go._

Procedure:

Quasimodo and Phoebus, together with the gargoyles, are in charge of acquiring Clopin for the experiment. They split into smaller teams and scour the streets of Paris searching for their desired test subject. Quasimodo inquires about him at the Court of Miracles, but is told the gypsy king's been out all day. Phoebus goes a-knocking on Clopin's caravan, to which the window is shut, but receives no reply. Finally the gargoyles locate Clopin, singing to himself while practicing cart-wheeling in the street.

"There he is!" Victor points out.

"Get'im!" Hugo shouts. The two male gargoyles swarm in on Clopin, who comes to a halt in his practice when he realizes he's about to be captured. Standing on his hands, he quickly tumbles himself to the ground, and out of the way just as Victor and Hugo crash head-on into each other. Pulling away and shaking off the stars encircling their heads, they look around and see thirty-or-so laughing gypsies in purple tunics disappear around thirty corners, gradually diminishing down to twenty, ten, five, then one.

"Nice work, you two," Laverne drawls sarcastically. "Makin' him cry'll be a piece of cake the way you're goin' about with it!"

"Hey, it's not our fault he's more slippery than an eel!" Hugo protests.

Said eel-trouncer is now engaged in a balancing act on a rope, still all smiles about his day. He begins to dance on his precarious perch, not even missing a beat when he sees Phoebus nervously edging his way out towards the center of the rope, a Clopin-sized burlap sack with the mouth open, in hand. Wordlessly, Clopin reduces his dance to a simple repeated jump, until the Captain of the guards is about two feet away. Clopin then stops and subtly wraps his feet around the rope, then stands there, staring curiously at the captain.

Phoebus knows enough to tell that Clopin's likely got a trick up his sleeve, but as long as there's a slight chance he can catch him… Just at the same time Phoebus swooshes the open sack towards his quarry, Clopin flashes his teeth in a cheeky grin and collapses to the side till he's upside-down on the rope. He then holds his hands out, pulls his feet apart, and somersaults to the ground, tucking under and rolling away till he slows down to a safe stop.* Poor Phoebus, meanwhile, is startled though he might have expected as much, and takes a less skilful and far less comfortable tumble from the heights of that rope…

"Phoebus, what happened?" Quasimodo, returning from the Court of Miracles, inquires, lifting the captain off the ground.

"Ugh, nothing much; I just found out I need to practice my balancing more," Phoebus groans, rubbing his lower ribcage. "Or maybe avoid it altogether. Did you see where Clopin went?"

"No, sorry," Quasi replies.

The gargoyles are once again chasing the gypsy king down, this time in the market square. Hugo zooms in on his target, who takes refuge behind a cheese stand. Crashing into the stand, Hugo then attempts to find Clopin, but he may as well have turned to dust under the wreckage. Well, never mind the now angry merchant associated with the stand, why waste perfectly good cheese?

While Hugo begins to stuff himself on the results of his blunder, Victor tries a smoother, moderately more tactful approach at capturing Clopin.

"Your majesty? Oh, your highness?… Your gypsy-highness?" Victor struggles to find the proper way to address a king of the gypsies, all the while searching around and under everything in sight.

"You called for me, _non_?" A high, masculine voice calls from behind the gargoyle. Turning around, Victor sees Clopin standing atop the edge of a vegetable cart, doffing his hat in a grand flourish.

"Oh, yes indeed!" Victor replies, then draws out one of those sacks, open and ready to receive Clopin. "If you'd just be so good as to place yourself in here -"

Clopin rolls his eyes as if to say, "Yeah, sure. I'll definitely comply with that!", then clasps his hands together and dives into the heap of vegetables in the cart, completely disappearing despite the vehicle's relative shallowness. Astonished, Victor nevertheless marches over to the cart and begins to carefully pick his way through the vegetables, calling out for the gypsy king. As it begins to grow quite clear that there's not a sign of him in the cart anymore, Victor begins to throw caution to the wind and starts tossing the vegetables out of the cart and behind him, one by one. When he reaches the point where most of the wooden base can be seen, he hears Clopin admonish him amiably from behind.

"Tsk, tsk, _mon ami_," Clopin saunters airily around to the opposite side of the cart. "You ought to know that the farmer has a wife and seven children to support!" So saying he tips his vegetable-stuffed hat right-side-up over the cart, and somehow _all_ of the tossed vegetables, completely undamaged, return safely to their post. Clopin then winks at Victor, returns his hat to his head, and pulls it down tight - taking his entire presence with it. Is there no way to catch this trickster?

Laverne lies in wait behind another cart, till she sees a flash of purple scampering by. With a snap of her fingers she sics her birds on Clopin. Catching wind of this uprise, he is not the slightest bit daunted. He merely seats himself on a bench, legs neatly crossed, and begins to sing a harmonic tune. Softly reaching his arms out, he allows the birds to gather around him and join in his song, some perching on the posts he has offered, some nestling into his lap, some seating themselves beside him on either side, and others fluttering around above him in circles, carrying blossoms in their beaks.

Dumbfounded, Laverne just stares at this picturesque but unpredicted sight. "Well I'll be," she muses. "If he doesn't get nominated as the twelfth Disney Princess, my horns are made out of emeralds!"

"Hey, nice work, Laverne!" Hugo comes up and jars the older gargoyle's back, to her disgruntlement.

"Yes, outstanding!" Victor concurs. "With the king of the gypsies preoccupied by this diversion, it should prove a cinch to seize him now!"

"Instead of yappin' about it, why don't you two go get him?" Laverne snappishly points out.

"Oh! Right!" they exclaim, each smacking their own foreheads. For the umpteenth time they advance on Clopin, trying to be as stealthful as they can be (bearing in mind they have to hop to get around), but naturally he sees them coming, and after gently whispering a few hushed notions to his new pals, he is soon hoisted into the air and carried away from the gargoyle's reach.

Frustrated, Hugo complains, "Aw, man! How does he manage to get everything on his side like that?"

"Guys? What's going on?" Quasimodo, still helping Phoebus get around, comes up to them. "Have you got Clopin yet?"

"Nah, these buffoons couldn't even catch the fellow's puppet if he left it in the middle of the street for them!" Laverne criticizes, while Victor hangs his head in shame and Hugo frowns.

"You know what?" Quasimodo glances at all other four search team members, "has anyone thought of just _asking_ him to come along with us?" From the surprised, pondering glances he gets from his friends, flesh and stone alike, he has to assume the answer is "no." Sighing, he places Phoebus down gently and says, "Wait here."

Quasi walks up to a house, on the roof of which Clopin is now sitting, feeding the birds some seed out of his black-gloved hands and the rim of his hat. "Clopin! Hello, Clopin!" he calls, waving a hand to attract the gypsy king's attention.

Glancing down upon hearing his name called, Clopin grins. "Ah, Quasimodo, _mon ami_! What a pleasant surprise!"

"Thanks," Quasi calls back, then asks, "um, listen, Clopin? We need your help with something. Could you come down and join us, please?" He can only hope the ever-curious gypsy king won't raise questions about what he's needed to help with until they get there.

Luck must be liking Quasi at the moment. "But of course!" Clopin volunteers, and leaps down from the roof, having finished feeding Laverne's birds. Linking arms with the hunchback, Clopin strolls off with him in the direction of Phoebus and the gargoyles, blithely remarking, "You know, Quasimodo, the captain and the gargoyles have been most helpful to _me_, today! I could not tell you the last time I had so much fun during a workout!"

Much exasperated groaning ensues once word gets out among the little group that that's what Clopin got out of their misadventures that day, but they are all still relieved that Quasi finally "caught" him. Although Clopin continues to sprint and dart about playfully, no one worries that he's going to run off; Clopin is always more than willing to lend a hand to a friend in need, at least when he's in the mood to do so…* It is perhaps one of the most comforting of his personality traits.

Carrying Phoebus over his shoulder, Quasi comments, "So, don't you have to write all this down, Phoebus?"

"Yes, yes, I'm on it," the captain grumbles, understandably miffed at the way things have played out at this stage in the experiment, especially on his part. Drawing out his pen and the data sheets he begins to scribble down:

"_Important to note, before proceeding any further: Any attempt to recreate this experiment should not be performed without a well-certified update of your will!__"_

**AN: I have all the chapters to this idea composed already, but it's more fun to post a little here, then post a little there, and so forth. Such things are not to be **_**rushed**_**, they are to be **_**savoured**_**! XD Ahem, and as for those notes I've indicated throughout the text:**

**1. "Wandering" because he's a gypsy, and the "nest" part refers to his caravan and to the Court of Miracles, of course.**

**2. Perhaps a shout of "MEEP, MEEP!" ought to have been inserted in there somewhere… but that might have gone a yard or so over the top.**

**3. Yep, that sentence is in fact oxymoronic on purpose!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here we are, with Chapter 2. We get to witness now the characters' bizarre experiment put into action with a series of tests, and as you will quickly realize, they could undoubtedly go about it a lot better than they actually do.**

Procedure: Part one:

"_In this part of the experiment we shall test the reaction of _Clopinus trouillefouensis _to a depressing environment, after being exposed for an extended period of time."_

"But you have not told me what you require my assistance for?" Clopin asks as he is led, arm in arm by Quasimodo and Madellaine, into a small room back at the lab.

"It's nothing much, Clopin," Madellaine explains. "For right now we just need you to stay in here alone for a little while."

"Yes but, what am I supposed to do?" Clopin frowns, eyeing critically the pitch black colouring of the walls, ceiling and floor. It's terribly dark and plain in here, and he doesn't understand why he needs to be in a room which leaves so much to be desired.

Madellaine looks behind Clopin at Quasi, facially indicating for him to take the cue and say something convincing. "We need your evaluation of the room, Clopin," Quasi explains on the spot. "Uh, you know, before redecorating it."

"Ah! _Mais oui_, I might have guessed! Well, you could not have picked a better source of feedback, my friends!" Before Quasi and his wife can leave the room themselves, Clopin is already shooing them out, saying, "We must make haste! This cavern of darkness is not going to redesign itself!"

As he slams the door behind them, Madellaine can't help but giggle, which gets Quasi doing the same. "He's so excited, I feel so terrible for doing this," Madellaine says.

"Yeah, but if we want to know whether he'll get depressed enough to cry or not, we've got to do it," Quasi reaffirms. So saying, he turns and bolts the door from the outside, so Clopin can't get out.

"_The exact amount of time required for this part of the experiment is questionable at best.__"_

"The guy's used to having the entire city as his playpen, and a dozen rainbows aren't colourful enough for him! If he's trapped in that dingy little room with no light, he'll be bawling after an hour!" Laverne theorizes.

Periodically members of the group tiptoe towards the door, listening to whatever might be going on inside. Sometimes low murmuring can be heard, and sometimes it is silent, but nothing resembling the sound of weeping. When it is Esmeralda's turn, she comes back into the main lab room, and at everyone's questioning glances, she confides, "It doesn't sound too promising. He was singing!"

"A melancholy ode to his yearning for freedom and light, singing?" Victor asks, requesting specification.

"No, more like 'I'm so proud of myself I couldn't be farther from tears' singing," Esmeralda replies.

"_What_?" everyone asks, puzzled. She leads them all back, making sure they're all quiet, and sure enough Clopin can be heard singing some sort of work song, and his voice does seem to be brimming with pride or one of its sibling emotions.

Grinning, Esmeralda remarks in a hushed voice, "He's always got a song for everything!"

"_La, da-da-da_… THERE!" Clopin can be heard clapping his hands. A moment later the door starts rattling, and it sounds as if he's muttering, "What the…"

Quasimodo, unable to hold out any longer, unbolts the door and opens it. So that he doesn't fall over, Clopin holds onto the door by its depth and swings out with it. "That door was locked for some reason," he muses, confused and a little suspicious.

Quasimodo peers into the room, wide-eyed. "What did you do?" he asks, stepping inside and glancing around.

Following him, Clopin centralizes himself in the room and brandishes his hand around, simply beaming. "Well, what do you think?" As everyone else makes their way in and sees the fully repainted walls, in bright hues of purple and yellow, and the equally colourful benches hosting dozens of puppets on either side of the room, he continues, "I thought I would take a little initiative and spare you all from weeks of trouble! I hope you do not mind that I designed it a little to my own tastes."

"Uh, no. No, Clopin, that's… just wonderful!" Quasi cautiously replies.

"Holy moly!" Hugo exclaims, taking it all in. "Did you _forget_ anything here?"

"Well, I confess, I had intended originally to construct a spiral staircase in matching hues over in that corner there," Clopin explains, "but I'm afraid I am still learning the basics, so perhaps another time."

"But how did you acquire the necessary supplies for this…_illustrious_ remodelling?" Victor asks incredulously, admiring Clopin's artistic, if not a bit nursery-oriented, genius.

A mischievous twinkle gleams in his eyes as he turns towards Phoebus while answering, "Some mysteries are better left unsolved, wouldn't you agree, Captain?"

Catching his sly wink and recalling a past experience between the two of them,* Phoebus clears his throat and quickly replies, "Um, absolutely! Now, if you'll just give me a moment…" he steps outside, not wanting to be in close proximity to Clopin while that nerve-racking memory is at the surface of his mind. Besides, he's got to take notes of what they've observed.

"_From our observations in this part of the experiment, it would appear that _Clopinus trouillefouensis_, when introduced to an environment not properly equipped to support its needs, resorts to adapting its surroundings into a more suitable arrangement. It is thereby able to maintain its environmental harmony without developing the slightest bit of depression."_

Procedure: Part two:

"_In this part of the experiment we test the __creature's reaction to a tragic tale."_

Clopin sits together with the others, listening as Victor reads out the exceedingly heartbreaking love story, _Romeo and Juliet_.* By the time he's finished, several members of his audience are dabbing at their eyes - Laverne has to keep shoving Hugo off as he continually tries to cry into her shoulder. One particular individual in the gathering, on who's reaction considerable attention was placed all along, just happens to be smiling in a satisfied, almost malicious smirk.

"_Tres magnifique_!" Clopin praises. "I believe my favourite part was when Mercutio cursed the houses of both families!"

Everyone stares at him with separated jaws; Victor drops the book in his shock. "Weren't you even slightly moved by the ending?" Madellaine asks.

"Why should I be?" Clopin inquires, taking the liberty to slouch back more comfortably, removing one of his shoes and using his toes to scratch the thigh of his other leg. "One cannot expect for every romance to work out in the end, after all!"

"But it's very sad when they don't, right?" Quasi presses.

"Oh, it is, but of course," Clopin assures him, finishing his scratching and reapplying his shoe. "You must remember though that this is only a story. An element of fiction! If you do not like the ending, you can always remaster it in your own way; to your own liking!"* Content now, Clopin smiles, then lowers his hat over his eyes and begins to snore.

Everyone looks wryly at each other, and Phoebus begins to scribble at a feverish rate, shaking his head.

Procedure: Part three:

"_In this part of the procedure, we shall use__ a slight variation on the tragic story stimulus: Sad music."_

Esmeralda plays a sombre melody on a harp, while Clopin listens together with Phoebus. To create atmospheric vibrations as morose as is conceivable, she recalls all her saddest memories in her mind, channelling and focusing on the tensions, furies and sorrows her heart conveyed in each one as she plays.

By the time she finishes and looks up from her performance, her deliciously manly husband is gently smearing a small river along his cheek, and her old friend is making Z's again.* Esmeralda looks at Phoebus, he looks at her. He then comments softly, "What'll you wager he won't wake up solving a math equation?"

Rolling her eyes, Esmeralda goes over to Clopin and shakes his shoulder gently, calling, "Clopin? Clopin?"

"Zzzzzz…_Crêpes, s'il tu plaît!_" Clopin sits up, smiling brightly.

"Huh. Guess I lost that bet," Phoebus remarks.

Procedure: Part four:

"_Here, as suggested by research team member Laverne, we attempt to bring the tugging of the heartstrings approach on to a more personal plain: Romance ended in betrayal.__"_

"Are you _sure_ this is going to work?" Victor inquires, watching the silhouettes of Esmeralda and Madellaine dressing Laverne from behind a screen. On his side of the screen are Quasimodo, Hugo, and Phoebus, looking on and waiting.

"It'll work, trust me," Laverne is heard to reply, before swatting playfully at Madellaine as she sprays some fragrance over her. "Hey, ease up on the perfume, kid! I'm breakin' his heart, not cloggin' his nose!"

"If nothing else, she might send him crying for his mommy," Phoebus mutters.

When the girls are done, Esmeralda and Madellaine step out from behind the screen. Motioning towards it, they say in unison, "Presenting our resident _femme fatale_, Laverne!"

Laverne, in her "seductive" regalia, emerges into view, received by blank stares from Phoebus and Quasi, somewhat slow clapping from Victor and marginally more enthusiastic applause from Hugo. She is dressed in a skin-tight red gown with a low neckline, with the fluffiest of stoles around her shoulders, any number of bracelets up her wrists, ropes of beads around her neck, hoop earings and enough makeup to fully supply four clowns. The net result is half gypsy, half fading Broadway star, and an extra fraction a three-year old child's paint job.

"Well, how do I look, boys?" Laverne asks, practicing a "sultry" strut over towards the guys.

As Esmeralda joins her husband at his side, he whispers to her, "Don't you think he'll find that a little insulting?"

"_I _found it insulting myself, but she insists she knows what 'sets a man swooning.'"

"Really? I shouldn't be surprised; being part of the statuary of a cathedral must give her ample opportunity to practice," Phoebus jokes sarcastically. Esmeralda swats his arm lightly and grins.

"Now outta my way, boys, I've got an experiment to finish!" With that, Laverne struts her way out of the room and off to set Clopin's heart all a-flutter, then smash it all a-shatter.

While Laverne goes over her flirtations with herself, Phoebus comments, "I'll wager this entire purse, she'll scare him so badly his heart _stops_ altogether."

"Hey, let's make that a syndicate!" Hugo says, putting some money of his own down.

"Enough, you two," Esmeralda scolds.

"Come on, darling," Phoebus contends, "you've got to admit, she looks like Frollo if he had ever tried actually partaking in the Festival of Fools!"

Esmeralda tries to frown again, but when he puts it like that, she finds she _does _sort of have to admit…

Meanwhile, Clopin is having a minor quarrel with his little puppet again, when a new addition to the room he's in draws his very surprised eyes up in its direction.

Laverne is leaning on her arm in the doorway, eyes half closed and smirking in a starlet style. "I didn't know if you were coming," she drawls, approaching Clopin, who continues to stare. "But I came anyway."

"_Sacre_," Clopin mutters in a voice barely above a lilting whisper, "but you _are_ a vision of loveliness!"

"What did he say?" Victor asks Madellaine, who is serving as the watchdog for this part of the experiment.

She reports back, "You're not going to believe this, guys, but I think he's actually attracted to her!"*

A collective, "Seriously?" ensues, followed by Phoebus grumbling, "This just isn't a good betting day for me!"

"No kidding, Doofus!" Hugo snorts, as if Phoebus is to blame somehow. "That's the last time I form a syndicate with you!" Arms crossed, he huffs and hops away.

"Oh sure, I'm always the one at fault!" Phoebus rolls his eyes.

While the underlying gambling problems of the experiment conductors is being analyzed within their circle, Laverne and Clopin begin to hit it off at an impressive pace, having already gotten to the stage at which they are engaging in a rather frenzied but steamy dance together, Clopin crowning Laverne with a wreath of roses and bearing an extra one in his teeth.

"Oh, how sweet!" Victor croons, clasping his hands and leaning his face into them. (After Madellaine shared her observations, of course, he and the others all had to come and see for themselves.) "The bliss, the elation, the euphoria of true romance! The heavenly entwining of two heretofore lonely, hungry hearts, coming together and eternally engaging in mutual nourishment through their own union!"

"Get ready to smash a jar, guys! I smell a gypsy wedding on the horizon!"

"What are you talking about?" Quasimodo turns to Hugo after hearing this. "This is supposed to be an act; Laverne's not being serious about it!" By this point it should be obvious that no one aside from Laverne really thought this method would work, and the group only consented to her idea because it seemed so far-stretched and funny.

"Um, maybe _she__'__s_ not, but I think _he _is," Madellaine says, pointing at the semi-sham couple. Sure enough, there's Clopin, kneeling on the floor beside a chair in which Laverne is now seated, running his lips in a stream of kisses up and down her stone arm.

"_Ah, ma belle cherie_," he sighs between kissing fits, "you are more beautiful than the finest jewel in the Queen of France's collection! Your arms, they are so smooth and so cool to the touch! Oh, allow me to quell the heat in my bosom!" So saying, he takes her hand and flattens the palm directly over his chest, in the region of his heart.

Granted it was the purpose of Laverne's act, but she is still a good deal surprised by the mouse-paced rythym of the organ beating beneath her touch. "Whoa, take it easy kiddo," she cautions, "I don't wanna cause a code-blue emergency here!"

"Oh Laverne! Laverne, _mon amour_!" Clopin declares in an ecstatic manner, "there has been nothing but feverish urgency since we first came to realize what we share! Why should we slow down now? We can ride this torrid current of love to such wonderous places, such marvellous heights! Say you will, my love, say you will! Forget Notre Dame, forget the other gargoyles! Come to the Court of Miracles and be my queen! We shall guard and protect the gypsies together, and have blissful nights all to ourselves! We shall lead the festivities of Paris together, side by side forever! We shall -"

"I honestly have no idea how it happened, how this is even _possible_," Esmeralda wonders out loud, "but it's getting too much. We've got to put a stop to this now!"

"Esmeralda, this _is_ what we were aiming for in the experiment," Phoebus reminds her, leading her away from the others and especially away from Clopin and Laverne, before she tries to intervene.

"An experiment which we don't even know why we're doing it in the first place," Esmeralda replies, removing her arm from his grasp and becoming relatively incensed. "I was fine with the first few tests, they were all harmless, everyday scenarios. I didn't complain about this idea before, because it just seemed so unlikely. But I won't stand by and let one of my oldest and dearest friends, who's always been like a father and a brother to me, be tricked into a false romance any longer! Did you not see how serious he was, back there?"

"Esmeralda, they haven't even been 'together' half an hour! You know how enthusiastically he goes about everything, this is probably just his way of teasing!"

"And when did _you _become such an expert on Clopin's feelings? You're not the one who grew up around him for almost your whole life, Phoebus!"

Listening to the couple squabbling, Victor shakes his head. "_Unless this act is drawn to a close soon, there may be __two__ pairings divided before tonight!_" he thinks. Clearing his throat and clenching his fists, he proceeds to march his way into the room hosting Laverne and her rapidly lovesick gypsy suitor, in order to carry out the part of this test which was assigned to him.

"Laverne, darling! Where have you been?" Victor asks, approaching Laverne with the air of a mildly suspicious husband.

Laverne, still in her act, gasps in stage-alarm, "Oh! Uh, V-V-Victor! I -" Smacking her forehead, she gestures to him to take the next line.

"Whatever is going on here?" Victor frowns, as though surprised to see Clopin hitherto groping Laverne's arm, but now looking up at the male gargoyle with genuine bewilderment on his face.

"Now, n-now Victor hon, I can explain," Laverne soothes, getting up from the chair and approaching the other gargoyle.

Standing up straight as though jealously indignant, Victor crosses his arms, turns away and huffs, "Really, Laverne! I would never have pegged you as the sort who would stoop to such an insidious pastime as infidelity!"

"Oh Victor, I'm sorry!" Laverne dramatizes, hoping no one other than her acting partner can see her poorly-muffled grin. What neither of them notices during their mock-domestic dispute is the look of horror and hurt crossing Clopin's face, which then darkens to a smoldering, blackish red hue as he snarls.

"Oh Victor, baby!" Laverne sighs as she pretends to fall into his arms, "I promise I'll never play around behind your back again! We can make this work, I promise!"

"Good heavens, NO!" Victor is all of a sudden heard to shout.

"_What_?" Laverne breaks from her act and looks up at him. "That's not what you're supposed to say, dumb-dumb!" Without looking down at her, Victor points behind her, and when she turns around her facial expression does not waste time rearranging itself to match his look of terror. Irises narrowed and concentric circles bedecking his psychotic gaze, Clopin advances menacingly on the two of them, a sharpened chisel raised in his hand, and a grin of pure, evil vengeance on his face.

"Perhaps I should let the both of you know," he hisses, that chill-inspiring smile ceaselessly contorting his face, "I do not take kindly to having my affections used, or my heart trampled on!"

"Alright, Esmeralda, _maybe _this test is taking things too far," Phoebus sighs, wanting their argument to be over at last.

"Oh good, I'm _so _happy you're finally cluing in!" She snaps over her shoulder, before turning away from him again, her arms crossed.

"But maybe I was right, you know? Look at how he's responded to all the tests so far -"

"Yeah!" Hugo, who has been nosing in on the couple's dispute, throws in. "You wanna talk 'stone-faced'; he puts _us _to shame!" he adds, motioning to himself and including his fellow gargoyles in his point.

"Exactly," Phoebus goes on. "You couldn't make him cry if you held an onion under his nose!"

Just as he says this, Victor and Laverne leap by at a frantic pace, hollering at everyone to run for their lives; Clopin has lost his wits! Phoebus, Esmeralda, and Hugo all stare on in bemusement as the fellow with the supposedly missing wits dashes past them, still brandishing his stone-carving apparatus, a maniacal interest in masonry as a pastime coursing all over his features.

"See? Nothing to worry about!" Phoebus says dismissively. Esmeralda snorts and walks off. Phoebus sighs and pulls out the data sheets again.

"_Also important to prepare in advance of a repeat experiment: An emergency marriage counselling!__"_

**AN: Hmm, the way it appears to me, that wasn't the best idea they could have tried, any way you look at it. Chapter 3 will be up at some point in the future, preferably not too far away, but come on, it would spoil the surprise if I made any guarantees or set any dates! What I will do, however, is provide the notes associated with those asterisks I've laced the text with:**

**1. Yes, that line is a reference to my fanfic, "Roi gitan ou marsupial?" Gosh, if Clopin is able to store all the supplies for his "Extreme Makeover: Dark, Dingy Room Edition" in that pouch of his, there must be a whole other dimension inside!**

**2. Of course, Shakespeare's beloved romantic tragedy was written about a century after the time in which HoND is set, but considering Victor does paraphrase Shakespeare early on in the first film, it seemed only right to have him reading this particular tragic story. Besides, one could argue that he is reading an example of the older tale by ****Matteo Bandello,**** on which the Arthur Brooke poem, "****The Tragical History of Romeus and Juliet", which in turn served as Shakespeare's inspiration, was based. Considering Bandello was born in 1480, he would still have had to have been nothing short of a childhood writing prodigy in order to avoid anachronisms here, but at least this way the timeline inaccuracy isn't **_**so**_** far off. Also, this is a parody-style fanfic, which makes usage of historic license even more pardonable. Furthermore, it just goes so well with the characters of the gargoyles, and I'll save time and asterisks by saying right here that this point applies to the many anachronisms and/or pop culture references made during Laverne's big scene a little later on.**

**3. LOL, Clopin is, if he can see it that way, most definitely a storyteller through and through! Furthermore, if he could tell his juvenile audience about Quasi's heart-wrenching history without even misting over in the slightest, how did they ever think the story of a man and woman dying for their love could do it?**

**4. Granted, sad music just does that to some people, but when you consider how energetic Clopin always seems to be, you've really got to wonder if he's not just using the act of a nap as a form of escape…**

**5. Well. While I cannot speak for all who read this chapter, I can certainly say that I've never seen ****that**** happen in HoND fanfiction before! What would you call that, exactly? "Cloverne"? "Lapin"? Wait a moment… "**_**Lapin**_**"? Why, with that term in mind, am I suddenly picturing a large crowd of rabbits bouncing towards me? ;)**

**Hope everyone's enjoying so far! ****J**


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, here is chapter three. As if the first four tests weren't ludicrous enough, it's about to get worse in here, as our little research team tries reaching out to more extravagant measures in order to bring this unusual experiment to a satisfactory conclusion. The question is, when Clopin is the subject of a pursuit of information, is a satisfactory conclusion even **_**possible**_**?**

Procedure: Part 5:

"_In which we use reflection on parent-child relationship as our latest stimulus.__"_

"So… Clopin?" Phoebus asks, as he approaches the gypsy king on one side and Quasi does the same on the other.

"That is my name, true," Clopin smiles, clearly satisfied about it. "A fine one to pronounce, wouldn't you agree?"

"Uh, sure but -"

"Simply 'rolls off the tongue', no?"

"Whatever, but -"

"Now, now, do not be discouraged, Captain. Yours is quite a handsome name, itself," Clopin assures, sympathetically.

"What?"

"And for a name with only two syllables, it is very surprising how many ways you can say it." Clopin demonstrates with his hands, "Phoebus, nice and simple. Then there is the prolonged way: Phoooeee-bussss!"

"How did we get on to this?"

"Or you might try the first part long and the second part short. Or you could choose to reverse it, so it is the other way around! Oh!" Clopin snaps his fingers, now entirely immersed in this new "pick-apart-this-name" game he's playing, "Perhaps one ought to try saying it backwards! How would that go now… Sub-eef? Suuuub-eef? Sub-eeeef!"

"Okay, now that you're done mixing my name up beyond recognition -"

"_Oh non, mon ami,_ I am just getting started!" Clopin beams, standing up on the chair he was sitting in. Using his fingers he begins to count all the ways to completely screw that name up. "Sub-fee? Bus-fee? Eef-bus? Phoe-sub! I think I like Eef-bus better, however…"

As Clopin continues on, Eef-bus or whatever we're supposed to call him looks at Quasimodo, who looks back at him. On both their faces the expressions seem to reflect the age-old question: "Is there any way to turn it off?"

"Um, Clopin?" Quasimodo tries to catch the gypsy's attention.

"Quasimodo?" Clopin asks, looking down to his left in a surprised way, as though he's just noticed Quasi is there. "Hmmm… now that would be an interesting name to try. Perhaps another time, however, I'm beginning to find this game a little boring now," Clopin yawns.

Phoebus thinks to himself, "_Well, aside from telling children stories, hanging strangers in the Court of Miracles, and prancing and singing all over the place, now we know what he does with his time!_"

Quasi half-wonders if Phoebus, like himself, has nearly forgotten what they were supposed to be doing with Clopin right now in the first place. It goes without saying that Clopin is extremely hard to follow at the best of times. Also, he chooses such weird topics to discuss.

"Yeah, well, we were just interested in… how it was for you, growing up?"

Perched upside-down on the chair and dancing his legs about atop the back of it, Clopin stops and stares at Quasi. "_Pardon_? What is this now?"

"It's just, um, how did you and your parents get along?"

Sitting sideways on top of the back of the chair now, Clopin mentally analyzes Quasi's question, then perks up again as he replies, "Ah, now I see! You and the _Madame_ have a little one on the way, and you're seeking advice!" Remembering Phoebus is also there, he says, "You, on the other hand, have come about six years later than perhaps you ought to have." He then mock-frowns, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.

Offended, Phoebus retorts, "There's nothing wrong with how I raise Zephyr!"

"When did I say there was?" Clopin asks, raising his hands in a surprised shrug.

As Phoebus inhales and exhales a bit more strongly than usual, Clopin turns back to Quasi and says, "Well, Quasimodo, you've come to exactly the right person! I may not have the position of parenthood under my belt, but I was blessed with the most exquisite parents I could have asked for!" Clopin sits down more properly again and asks, "What would you like to know first?"

Quasi hesitates. It seems with each word exchanged in this conversation, they get further away from the subject they're trying to explore, or at least the notion of getting to it becomes increasingly awkward and difficult. "Well…" Quasi begins slowly, wringing his hands as he tries to decide how he'll broach the subject.

"Speak up, speak up. Don't be shy!" Clopin encourages.

As Quasi is still uncertain how to steer the topic back onto its intended course, Phoebus fills in for him, "What Quasi wants to know is, what's the best approach to take when it comes to encouragement?"

"Yeah!" Quasi says, now a little more confident about carrying this through. "I mean I want the best for my son - or my daughter - and, and I don't ever want them to think I'm not encouraging them in their dreams enough. You know what I'm saying?"

"But of course," Clopin says, wearing a laid-back grin. "But you did not need to come to me for that, Quasimodo. You only need to look at how Judge Frollo reared you, and do the exact opposite of everything he did!"

And once again, away from the key topic here. Time to bring it back around again. "Didn't you ever feel like your parents disapproved of what you were doing? Or that they weren't encouraging you enough?"

"Who, me? Certainly not! My father thought of me as a continuous supply of hilarity, for the family, for everyone in fact! And my mother, well, I had to learn to sew from somewhere if I was going to make all my puppets, you know!"

"So you never had any problems with them at all?"

"Well," Clopin scratches his beard as he nitpicks his memories, "there _was _perhaps the time when I sprinkled half an elixir of powder for vanishing into my father's wine when he wasn't looking. Of course, he did not stay mad at me for long when he realized how much coin his newly squeaky voice brought in,* so that might not count either," he shrugs.

Meanwhile, Esmeralda and Laverne stand outside the doorway, curious as to how the guys are getting on with Clopin in this test. Laverne is using her horn to listen in through the closed door.

"Well, what's happening?" Esmeralda inquires.

"Yep, cryin' alright. I think they've broken him at last!" Laverne confirms.

"Oh, poor Clopin," Esmeralda rests her forehead in her hand as she shakes her head. She's become increasingly detached from this experiment since the previous test, despite how obviously it backfired. "You stay here, Laverne, I'm going in to comfort him," she says, opening the door. What she sees in the room makes her stop, dead-still.

Clopin, his face as lacking in any saline streams as ever, is sitting down with Phoebus and Quasi kneeling at his feet. He has his legs somewhat apart, to allow room for both of their heads, which are buried into his lap as they cry their eyes out.

"I just can't believe it," Phoebus sobs, "I've never been able to understand why my father never noticed anything I did! My first horse ride, my first sword fight, my first battle, he was there the entire time…. But he was always looking the other way! WHY, Dad? WHY?!"

"Shh, shh… there, there," Clopin soothes, smoothing the captain's hair in a paternal fashion.

"You think you had it bad?" Quasi rebukes, "I lived my whole life thinking my mother hated me because I was so ugly, and then I learn from Frollo, after twenty years of pain and resentment, that she really did love me, that - that she DIED trying to protect me! And then Frollo! He claimed he took me in, he acted like he cared for me, but - but he wanted me DEAD the WHOLE TIME!" Quasi breaks down into tears again, then mutters, "No wonder he was always so distant… and harsh…."

"Aw, there now, _mes garcons_," Clopin says, petting the two of them together. "Clopin is here, it is alright now." Looking up at the doorway he sees Esmeralda gazing on, her face bearing an expression somewhere between a blank stare and exasperated befuddlement. He stops petting Phoebus long enough to put his finger to his lips and shake his head, silently indicating for her not to disturb them, then when Phoebus starts to cry harder he quickly re-employs his hand to the task.

"There is some good in this, do you know?" Clopin says to the two men in a cheerful voice. Sniffling, they both look up at him. Glancing down at his tear-drenched thighs, he remarks, "I shall no longer need to put these tights in to be washed tomorrow! Isn't that wonderful news?" He sneaks in a cheeky grin as Phoebus and Quasi roll their eyes, then resume crying into his lap. Although he resumes petting them, he juxtaposes his kindness by asking if they might try crying onto his tunic as well in a few minutes.

Very quietly and very uneasily, Esmeralda closes the door behind her, then leans back against it. Running her hand across her forehead, she glances at the ceiling and says to Laverne, "Oh boy. I am _so _glad Zephyr wasn't here to see that!"*

"_As evidenced in this test, _Clopinus trouillefouensis _is among those species which enjoy a healthy parent-child bond on both sides. The creature also, on a side note, takes an admittedly unconventional stance with regards to the proper form for consolation. Also, for the record, if this paper seems very water-stained, it was just raining outside when this was written. More precisely, this was written outside in the rain. I swear.__"_

Procedure: Part 6:

"_By this time we__'__ve reached the conclusion that we ought to take a different approach to this study. Thus far we have been trying to evoke tears of a sorrowful nature from _Clopinus trouillefouensis_, always to inconclusive results. We shall now attempt to see if it is possible to make the creature cry out of other emotions - i.e., joy."_

Everyone sits together in the main lab room, contemplating what scenario they can form that could delight Clopin so much he might cry because of it.

"It's got to be the kind of happiness that follows fear," Phoebus reasons.

"Fear?" everyone asks.

Phoebus clarifies, "Take for instance, the thought of facing a terrible danger, with the odds of survival stacked against you. Then somehow, you manage to overcome that danger, and -"

"We're not putting Clopin in danger, guys. And we're not going to trick him into _thinking_ he's in danger, either. Out of the question," Esmeralda firmly declares.

Phoebus looks up at his wife, and an idea enters his mind. "I don't think we'll need to… put _Clopin_ in danger," he smiles. As he moves his glance between Esmeralda and Madellaine, the look of nervousness worn by the latter and the look of exasperation worn by the former are justified all too well when he says, "Anyone up for a game of 'Damsels in distress'?"

"_With the intent of playing on the__ strong familial instincts of _Clopinus trouillefouensis_, we shall proceed to stage the placement of several of its peers in apparent mortal danger."_

"Clopin! Clopin!" Quasi rushes to the gypsy king, in great panic.

"What is it?" Clopin replies, raising a brow.

"It's Esmeralda, Madellaine, and Djali!* Quick! They're trapped, and in terrible danger!"

Clopin wastes no time following the frantic hunchback down the hallway, but bombards him with questions about the situation at hand. "What sort of danger? How did this happen? It is not at all like _La Esmeralda_ to not be figuring a way out herself! And why are you taking this time instead of helping them? If I were you, I most certainly would not have left my wife in danger, unattended!"

Most of those are questions Quasi cannot answer, lest Clopin find out what the real meaning of this all is. Fortunately, they did sort of think ahead, in case he should become suspicious. "Just come with me," Quasi calls, making sure his voice still sounds chock full of fear. "You'll understand when we get there."

Even as he follows Quasi down the hallway, steadily worrying more and more about his peril-struck friends, Clopin can't resist pointing out that his habit of not providing people with direct answers to any questions they ask him, does in fact follow the "Do as I say, not as I do" principle. "Well, what can we do? Where is this happening, anyway?"

"Over in here!" Quasi gasps, opening one of the doors and dashing inside. Clopin follows, and skids to a halt when he sees they are standing on a precarious edge, overlooking a large indoor vat of murky water, a good forty-so feet below. A good twenty feet away from the edge on which they stand, is a dangling wooden cage, suspended on an old rope which seems to be bearing it on the last of its strength. Inside the cage, Djali bleats frantically in one corner while continually having to remind himself not to look down. Esmeralda and Madellaine lie in the middle of the cage, completely still, as though unconscious. That in itself would have made Clopin's heart sink without time to greet his guts on the way down, but when he sees what is resting atop Esmeralda's chest, it is as if the organ is going to liquefy in his feet and seep out his toes.

"My puppet!" Clopin exclaims in alarm, before running his hand over its usual place of storage. "How did he get out on his own? I never took him out!" Angrily he turns to Quasi and says, "You did not say that my puppet was trapped also!"

"I - I - I didn't see him there!" Quasi stammers. That's true in fact; Esmeralda must have snuck it from Clopin somehow. She's about the only one in the research team who could stand a chance at pulling that off without Clopin noticing.

The gypsy king runs back and forth, fretting primarily over the well-being of his little likeness, but then calms himself down and switches to a more calculative mindset. "We must do something, and quick!" he announces while considering their options. Once again his brow raises suspiciously as he turns to Quasi and inquires, "Wait a second… you know, Quasimodo, it seems just a _little_ odd that you, who could scale Notre Dame in seconds and think nothing of it, have not tried sliding down the rope and rescuing them, does it not?"

Quasi rolls his eyes. He supposes it was futile to hope that Clopin would not pick up on that obvious shortcoming in this arrangement. "Clopin, do you see how weak the rope is? It'll break if one more thing weighs it down!"

Clopin ponders over what can be done. Staring down at the water, he suggests, "Well then, wait here, and let me get some stilts! There's a pair or two at the Court of Miracles which should be long enough!"

Quasi would slap his hand to his forehead right now, if there were a discreet way to do it. This isn't how the scene is supposed to play out at all. Where are Phoebus and the gargoyles? They're supposed to be conducting the "rescue" around this time!

"_Non. Non, non, non,_ that will take too long," Clopin reconsiders. "Better still!" he then grins cleverly. "Watch them, and make sure nothing happens to them!" he fiercely directs Quasi, before turning and calling out to those in the cage, "Just keep 'hanging' in there, _mes chers_! I'll be right back! And Djali, if I so much as find _one _bite mark on my puppet, I'll know who did it, and you'd better flee France altogether!" Clopin demonstrates a noose with his hand to solidify the threat, then disappears through the doorway again. The girls break from their unconciousness act, and Phoebus and the gargoyles finally arrive in a rowboat on scene.

"Where were you guys?" Madellaine calls out to them.

"Perhaps we might have made it here sooner if the Captain of the guards knew the first thing about proportioning the size of a water craft meant to hold four individuals!" Victor calls out, arms crossed in annoyance while he and the other gargoyles glare accusingly at Phoebus.

Equally irked, Phoebus snaps, "Alright, news flash: I was in the _army_, not the _navy_! When you're marching a battlefield on dry land, with horses and swords, knowing how to build a boat is not really at the top of the list of things you need to know!" He then looks up at the edge on which Quasi is standing, and calls out, "Wait a second, where's Clopin?"

"He's off getting something to save the day with," Esmeralda answers, smiling. Even if Clopin was meant to be an onlooker and not the "hero" here, the fact that he cares enough to go to that trouble instills in her a sense of pride.

"What? He's not supposed to be doing that!"

"You got that right!" Hugo concurs in an outraged tone, hands on his hips. "_I__'__m_ gonna impress Djali by saving him! No gypsy king is gonna steal my thunder!"

"Djali, come away from the edge," Esmeralda calls to her goat. He goes over to her and curls up in her lap, relaxing a little. She then asks, "Any sign of him yet, Quasi?"

"Yeah, here he comes," Quasi calls in a stage whisper, urging everyone to get back into their act.

Seconds later, Clopin returns to the staged rescue scene, being carried by those birds again. Seeing Phoebus and the gargoyles down below, he calls out, "_Ah, tres bon_! The more help we can get, the better. All three of you, come up here at once!"

Hugo does not need to be told twice, where playing hero with Djali is concerned. Laverne and Victor follow close behind; Laverne turns to her birds and snaps, "Hmph! Nice to know where your loyalty _really_ lies!" However, if her words did in fact put them to shame, they are masking this extraordinarily well.

The birds transport Clopin over to the cage, and he cleverly manages to pick the lock and open the door. "There! Now, Victor! Hugo! Laverne! Each of you take one of them and get them to safe ground!" He himself snatches up his precious puppet while Hugo grabs Djali (Esmeralda could just as easily have carried him, but she knows this means a lot to Hugo, and thinks it's actually kind of sweet), Victor carries Esmeralda, and Laverne takes hold of Madellaine.

As Clopin and his puppet are carried back to safety, he seems to have completely flipped, judging by the way he is communicating with it. In any case, he is certainly flipping back and forth between beating the puppet with the stick and warning him never to "wander" off and get into trouble like that again, and smothering him with kisses and rejoicing that he is back with him, safe and sound.

Once everyone is safely back with Quasi, Esmeralda and Madellaine run over and hug Clopin, each kissing him on whichever cheek they're closest to. To hell with the silly experiment, it's just good to know that he'd go to such effort to save them. Djali gives Hugo a lick, causing him to smile wide and turn beet red. Victor sweeps his hands, since the job is done, and Laverne's birds start fluttering around her again.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, go tell it to your new _pal_,"* she snaps bitterly, though again it has little effect on them.

Quasimodo notices one of the birds has gotten caught on the rope, somehow, and says, "Oh, here, let me fix that!" While he is freeing the bird, however, he jerks the rope to a degree, and upon receiving this disturbance it splits in the centre, causing the cage to go crashing down below.

"Phoebus!" Esmeralda cries, watching.

"Goodness gracious!" Victor exclaims.

Phoebus has been taking this time to jot down what they learned through this test, and therefore does not see what is plummeting towards him until _SMASH_! The force of the cage's impact is enough to tip the boat at such a pace that poor Phoebus is propelled upward towards the (rather high) ceiling.

"QUASIMODO!" the captain yells as he soars farther upward.

Another crash can be heard as everyone winces, looking at what just happened. "Sorry!" is all Quasi can say.

All that can be seen of Phoebus on this side of the ceiling is his body from the shoulders down. He crosses his arms as he calls back, "You know, I'm still not convinced you mean that when you say it!"

"_The results of this test would indicate that _Clopinus trouillefouensis_ is just too smart to let emotion overtake it when those it cares about are in peril. Also, based on what happened after I was finally freed from the ceiling, when reattempting this experiment, bring along a buoy or two and be prepared for a four-hour bath with three bars of lye soap."_

**AN: I take it when they got him dislodged he went for a bit of a dive… oh well, there are worse things that could happen. Anyway, chapter 4 will be up at some point, and - depending on how I edit and revise things until then - it's probably going to wrap things up for this story. In the meantime, to explain those notes I've marked off:**

**1. Granted, I have no idea what might actually happen if someone were to consume that sort of thing, nor would I care to try and learn the hard way, but in my opinion the wackier and more vague the backstory, the better!**

**2. No kidding, Esmeralda! To see his father and his best friend crying their eyes out like that would probably scar the poor kid for life! XD**

**3. I brought Djali into this chapter because I've wanted to add him into something for some time, and the idea of Hugo wanting to play hero and rescue him was too adorable to pass up anyway.**

**4. Wow, considering how annoyed she gets whenever they pester her, who would have thought Laverne would be **_**jealous **_**that the birds like Clopin?**


End file.
